


Intersection

by dracoqueen22



Series: Tethers [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fantasy Typical Violence, First Meetings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 09:14:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20374321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: Tempest went into the Salty Crossroads looking for an adventure, and later, breaking out of a jail cell, she found something better -- a friend.





	Intersection

Cheap ale. Piss. Vomit. 

Yeah. This was definitely the right bar. 

Tempest grinned and stepped inside, brushing snow from her fur-covered shoulders. The door rattled and clunked behind her with a loud snap, briefly drawing attention from the raucous interior. 

She lifted her chin, giving those inside her cheekiest look, knowing how well her appearance deceived. She was short, even for a halfling, and her head was crowned in cherubic, ginger curls to match the smattering of freckles over her cheeks. It made her look much, much younger than her thirty years. 

Most people took one look at her and dismissed her. She wasn't a danger. She wasn't a threat.

The patrons glanced at her and went back to their drinking, their gambling, their arguing. The noise reached an obscene level. 

Excellent. 

Tempest hefted her glaive onto her shoulder and strode into the bar, seeking the best perch. At the bar itself, squeezed between the two tieflings? Should she join the tangle of humans and dwarves engaged in a riotous game of the Queen's Folly? Or should she introduce herself to the mercenaries glaring balefully from the corner table. Mayhaps they needed a barbarian to join their crew. 

Tempest's last crew had left her here, in this tiny city in the middle of nowhere with not a job prospect to be found. They'd gone their separate ways -- amiably -- and she had a small pouch of coin to her, but they hadn't found what they sought, and they'd all parted with disappointment on their shoulders. 

Tempest needed a new job. And fast. 

Here she had options, it seemed. Barkeeps were always the best sources of information. There was room, she noticed, at the bar. She could climb up between a rather dour blue half-orc in the corner, and a gnome who looked to be asleep, drool gathered at the corner of his mouth, one hand still cupping his tankard. Didn't seem like either of them would bother her. 

Good enough. 

Tempest climbed up onto the stool, tucking her pack into her lap and leaned forward to try and catch the attention of the human barkeep. He was a portly man, in his forties maybe, with a bald head but sprouting a rough beard. He looked kind enough. Maybe he wouldn't cheat her.

She waved a hand and rapped her knuckles on the bar, hoping he could hear her over the noise. Whether it worked or not, the barkeep tilted his chin toward her, finished a conversation he was having with a couple of women dressed in armor down at the end, then waddled her way, wiping his hands on his long tunic.

"Ain't seen you around 'for," he said with a barrel laugh.

Tempest arched an eyebrow. "You're at a crossroads. Everyone's new around here."

"Aye, that's the truth." He laughed again, as though he'd told a very funny joke. "What can I do ya for?"

Tempest rifled around in her pouch and pulled out a handful of silver, slamming it down on the counter. "Whatever that will get me plus an answer or two."

"Ya lookin' for someone I might be protectin'?" he asked with a squinty eye, though he scooped up the silver fast enough.

"Nope. Just a job."

"Ah, that I can do ya for free." He reached under the bar, pulled out a tankard, and plopped it on the counter in front of her. "What kind of job?"

"The paying kind."

"Right, right." He turned and grabbed a huge pitcher from the counter behind him. "Well, if you want -- I heard ya, hold yer britches, be there in a moment!" He hollered off into the rowdy corner and turned back to face her, slopping a dark, thick brew into her mug. "Ya remember that big tree ya might've saw when you came in?"

Tempest squinted and dragged her mug closer, giving it a tentative sniff. Oh, it smelled like tar and honeycomb. "Yeah."

"Well, it's nowhere near there." The barkeep guffawed.

Tempest stared at him. She took a long, noisy slurp of her ale, and it slopped as it trickled over her tongue, tasting a bit gritty. Eh. Not the worst she'd had.

He petered off into a chuckle then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Job posting's on the side of my buildin', on the open facin' wall, not the alley wall, got it? Could probably find somethin' there yer lookin' for."

"That'll do." Tempest saluted him with her tankard. "Thanks."

He fluttered a wink at her. "Anytime, little one." He turned to go, but before he could, the blue half-orc beside Tempest slammed his empty tankard on the counter.

"Horace. Another," he grunted.

Wow. Talk about rude.

The barkeep -- Horace apparently -- lost the humor. He planted two hands against the counter, bracing himself, and fixed the orc with a look. Tempest gave him one, too. 

"You've had enough for tonight, Dakota," he said, shoulders back, face set with determination.

The half-orc glared, his eyes flashing, and it took Tempest until that moment to realize he wasn't a half-orc. He was a full orc, if a bit on the small side. And wasn't that odd, to have a full orc hanging out at a tavern in full view of everyone. Where were the torches and pitchforks?

"You know I can drink more than this," he said, voice edging toward a growl, without a bit of stutter or stammer in his voice. He certainly didn't sound like he'd reached his limit. Not like the passed out gnome on Tempest's other side.

Tempest took another gulp of her tankard.

"That's not the point. I'm cutting you off. You ain't paid me for the last three rounds, fucker," Horace said with a bit of growl of his own, though it wasn't half as intimidating coming from a human as it was coming from an orc.

Dakota fumbled to his feet, stool screeching the floor beneath him. His black clothing was well-kept, for all that the rest of him seemed bedraggled, and the shadow on his cheeks did him no favors. He shoved a hand into a pouch and pulled out a fistful of what seemed to be copper, scattering the coins on the counter.

"There," he grunted. "That's all my earnings for the week. Have 'em." He flicked Horace off with a twist of his wrist. "I'll sleep with the pigs."

Tempest took a huge pull of her tankard, nearly finishing it. She'd need a refill soon. But she didn't want to disturb... whatever display this was. A normal argument, she'd wager, given that no one seemed concerned about the agitated orc in the corner.

"If ya think I'm going to beg you to do otherwise, you're mistaken." Horace waved him away and turned toward the other end of the bar.

Dakota, however, stumbled off his stool and nearly knocked a barmaid over in the process. She, perhaps used to the various miscreants, quickly caught her balance, and affixed him a glare.

"Enough of that now," she snapped.

"My apologies," Dakota grunted, and he swiped two of the tankards from her tray before she could twist away from him, gulping down one mug in quick succession, some of it spilling out of the corners of his mouth in a messy dribble.

"That wasn't yours, Dakota," the barmaid hissed as she finished twisting to get the tray out of his reach, preventing him from putting the empty on it.

Dakota wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "It is now." He stumbled back, ass hitting the stool where he'd been perching, slamming the empty mug onto the counter behind him.

Tempest sipped her ale, a grin curving the corners of her lips. The tension in the bar started to shift, raising the hairs on her arms. Oh, yeah. She'd definitely found the right place.

The barmaid chuffed, her eyes narrowing.

One of the men at the table she'd been serving stood up, his hand on his sword, his scarred face dour. "This orc bothering you, miss?" he asked, and there was something in the rumble of the question suggesting he'd been hoping for a chance to cut Dakota down.

"No more than usual, good sir," she replied with a flutter of her eyelashes, a patented attempt to calm the rising tide of anger.

Ah, but she was a barmaid. She should know what drink and a bloated sense of chivalry could accomplish, where reason and peace could not.

"He shouldn't be bothering you at all." The human circled around the table, nostrils flaring, a predator who finally found a proper hunt.

Tempest mouthed the edge of the tankard, pretending to drink, tensing herself for the incoming fray.

"Scum like him has no business being around right and proper folks," one of the scarred man's companions muttered into his hands, the dwarf's eyes dark beneath bushy salt and pepper eyebrows. "Teach him a lesson, Garrok."

"Oh, I intend to."

"Please don't cause a ruckus, we've only just repaired from the last one," the barmaid said, her tone exasperated, her pleasant features taking on the hardness of all women who survived here at a crossroads. Her free hand drifted to her side, where a dagger was tucked into her belt. 

Smart woman. 

But a ruckus was exactly what Tempest came here for. Tsk, tsk.

Scarred man rounded the table, making a beeline for Dakota, who wasn't paying him a bit of attention as he buried his face in his tankard. Horace, the bartender, was at the other end of the bar, but he'd seemed to finally notice the growing altercation, and he was making his way closer.

Too little, too late.

Tempest grinned and subtly slid her glaive into the walkway, low enough to tangle in the legs of the approaching menace. He was so intent on his target, ready to lay into the fearsome orc who'd made the grave error of drinking in a public establishment, he didn't notice.

One foot caught, and then the other when he tried to find his balance. He tumbled forward, hitting the floor, chin snapping against the bottom rung of the stool with a loud thump and clatter, sword skittering out of his hand.

Conversation died to a low murmur. Quiet schlepped through the bar.

Tempest slurped loudly on the last of her mug and set it on the counter. She pulled her glaive out of the line of fire.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said as a belch cropped up and announced itself. "I'm just so small, you see. I'm always losing track of where my weapons are."

"You little--"

Tempest shouted as someone picked her up by the collar, lifting her clear off the stool. She loathed being picked up, and Tempest caught one foot on the stool, using it to spin in the creep's grasp and kick. The tip of her boot caught the upper lip of a bearded human, and teeth crunched.

He howled.

He dropped her, and Tempest landed in a crouch. Right next to the human she'd tripped. He was getting to his hands and knees, and he whipped around as he heard her glaive clatter on the floor. His nose streamed blood, and anger danced in his eyes.

"You," he snarled and scuttled across the floor toward her, as if he wanted to throttle her with his bare hands.

Not today.

Tempest dropped back and kicked him, boot catching on his shoulder, and skidding off a pauldron. Damn it. She scrambled for her glaive as he reached for her again, fingers wrapping around her ankle and tugging it across the ground.

"Let go, perv!" she shouted as she twisted to her other side and kicked him again. Fury boiled and bubbled up within her, churning in her gut. 

She missed. He grinned with bloody teeth, and hauled her another foot closer. And then suddenly he was pulled off the ground by the back of his shirt, letting go of her ankle in his surprise.

"Leave the little lady alone," Dakota growled, alcohol swimming his eyes but agitation flashing around it. "Take on someone your own size." He gave the man a good shake.

"That was the plan." The angry human pulled back a fist, socking Dakota in the face, cutting his knuckles on a jagged tusk.

Tempest snatched up her glaive, scrambled to her feet, and came face to face with a stout dwarf, oddly beardless, lips stretched wide over a toothy grin.

"Where ya goin', missy?" he asked. "Running away from the fight ya started?"

Tempest smirked. "Not a chance." She flipped her glaive up and smacked him across the cheek with the blunt end.

His head snapped backward, and he howled. "You little cheat!" the dwarf snarled and rushed her, arms extended.

She sidestepped the grapple, grinning as the familiar dance of a bar brawl rose in raucous fury around her. "Missed me!" Tempest sang, only for her foot to catch on something and send her tumbling back to the ground again, ass landing in a spilled tankard.

Ow.

"Damn it. Yanah, get the Defensors! Dakota, put that human down right now!"

Tempest's dwarven opponent was too drunk to forestall his momentum. A crash echoed through the bar as he collided with one of the patrons and sent him tumbling from his stool. Oh, that poor gnome. And all he'd wanted was a drunken nap.

Tempest snorted a laugh.

Someone got their fingers in her hair and pulled.

"Ow, ow, stop it!" Tempest slapped at the hand pulling her to her feet, jerking an elbow back into soft, giving flesh. "Let me go!"

"You are a little troublemaker," A soft, silken voice commented, like if someone had made a snake female and dressed her up in robes. "Emphasis on the little."

Tempest rolled her eyes. "Like I've never heard that before." She twisted and kicked backward, but the hold on her hair released at the last moment, and momentum betrayed her.

The kick missed. Tempest tumbled forward, right into a fist, and stars burst behind her eyes, pain exploding in her face. Her cheek throbbed, and she staggered, nearly losing her grip on her glaive.

She grinned. "Now that's more like it."

Through the ringing in her ears, she found the tall, half-elven woman who must have struck her, crackling scarred knuckles as she grinned.

"You look like you're good for a round or two," the woman said, still with that weird, sibilant voice that made the hairs on Tempest's body stand on end.

Witty repartee was for people who weren't actually interested in battle. Tempest stuck her glaive through the hoops across her back and rushed the half-elf. A human male came flying between them, slamming into the table. It crashed beneath his weight, sending tankards and food dishes flying, but like all tables in crummy bars, it was sturdy and didn't crumple.

The man's head lolled, his face a mask of bruises and blood, but his chest moved, so he was conscious. Tempest skidded to a halt, followed the man's trajectory, and found Dakota smirking back at her.

Tempest winked.

Dakota furrowed his orcish brow, and then vanished under three bodies of various races, all trying to get their pummels in. Chaos reigned. It didn't matter why the fight had begun, it only mattered that there was blood to be had and everyone wanted a piece of it.

Tempest whirled her attention back to her own opponent, and her eyes widened. She dropped down, but was too slow to avoid the ringed fist coming at her, and it clipped the side of her temple, sharp gems leaving a shallow cut. Blood immediately welled free, and Tempest snarled, twisting around to pop a kidney punch. 

The half-elf was only lightly armored, and Tempest made contact. Her opponent whooshed out a breath and flexed into the punch, making a pained noise. She staggered forward, trying to catch her balance, and another body slipped in between them, tripping over her own feet as she stumbled to the ground. 

A brunette, bustily spilling out of her leather armor, hit the ground, bleeding from the nose. Her chest rose and fell – alive, unconscious, not a threat. 

Tempest ignored her. 

The half-elf regained her constitution and whipped back around toward Tempest, lips peeled back in a very inelegant snarl which would have offended her snottier half. She rushed forward, leaping over the body of the brunette, and Tempest ducked the first wild blow – easy enough when you were half the size of your opponent. 

Tempest laughed as she danced back on her heels, ducking another jab and then a third. She wiped the blood from her forehead with the back of her hand, face flushed, the thrill of a fight steaming in her veins.

She watched. She waited for an opening. 

There!

A loud bang rose above the din, joined by the clatter of armor and weaponry and boots.

"Enough!" A female voice shouted with such authority, Tempest paused mid-punch, her muscles tensing.

A backhand took Tempest clear across the face, pain spiking in the aftermath, as stars danced in her eyes. She growled, shaken out of pause, and made to launch at the half-elven bitch.

"I said enough!"

Someone scruffed her before she could finish her leap. Tempest wriggled about in the grasp, trying to aim a kick or an elbow back at her assailant. Both clanged against armor.

Balls.

It was a Defensor. No escaping those. They always arrived in time to spoil the fun.

Tempest went limp, and the Defensor put her on its foot, hand clamped on her shoulder, fingers digging in. "I'm not going anywhere. Promise," Tempest said.

There was no answer. Then again, what else would you expect from a mindless, soulless suit of armor powered by magic and controlled by their mortal captain?

"Horace, just point at the ones you want arrested, and I'll take care of the rest," the female voice said, clear as a bell, now that her brutes had stormed through the bar, subduing any fighter who hadn't immediately dropped weapons and played innocent the moment the Defensor squad came inside.

The bartender, looking harried with a bright red mark on one cheek, pointed at Dakota beneath a pile of men, and then, had the gall to point in Tempest's direction, too. "Them's the ones which started it," he said, with a sigh of one long belabored.

"Actually, that is not entirely accurate," Tempest said, holding up a finger. "Because I would argue that the human over there is a shitbag and deserved what he got." She pointed to the unconscious man on the table.

Horace pinched his nose. "If they pay the fine, I'll consider the matter dropped."

Two Defensors stomped noisily forward, fishing Dakota out from the bottom of the pile, and deflecting any last minute blows from the scrum. Dakota was a bruised, bloody mess, and one eye was starting to swell. But he didn't put up any fight in the grip of the Defensors.

"Might as well haul me to a cell," he said, voice low and raspy around his tusks. "You know I don't have the coin."

"What's the fee?" Tempest asked, trying to wriggle around to get to her money pouch. "I'm sure I can pay for me, maybe even us both! I've got a little left over..."

She trailed off.

She couldn't find her pouch. It wasn't tied to her belt. The little strings were still there, but they were frayed at the ends, as if they'd been cut. Tempest blinked, groping blindly at her side. This didn't make sense.

When had she...?

Realization trickled in.

"It'll be fifty gold," the captain said as she strode regally up to Tempest, looking her up and down with a critical eye. "Each."

Tempest offered her most winning smile. "Right, and I had that but there's a thief about! Someone stole my money pouch." She wriggled the frayed leather thong in the captain's direction. "See? All gone. That's the real crime here."

"Right," the captain said. She spun on a heel, her cape flying in a swirl behind her. "To the jail with you then. Horace, you'll receive compensation in some form or another."

Horace dipped his head and mopped his brow with a bar towel. "My thanks, Captain. Your defense is appreciated."

"This isn’t fair!" Tempest cried as they started to carry her through the crowd by the back of her shirt. At least she had a good grip on her glaive, but her pack was still on the bar. "My stuff! You can't just leave my stuff!" She wriggled around, trying to get loose. "I need my stuff!"

“Your belongings will be retrieved, halfling. Now hold your tongue,” the captain threw over her shoulder without offering Tempest more of a glance. “Or you will find the chains we give you much heavier than they need to be.” 

Tempest went limp. “Fine. Shutting up now.” 

She twisted to look over her shoulder, and sure enough one of the Defensors clomped toward her bag where it was tangled in the stool. The automaton worked it free, breaking the stool in the process, and fell into line behind the rest of its compatriots. 

Tempest and Dakota were unceremoniously hauled out of the bar, Tempest’s feet dangling in the air, her shoulders chafed from the pull of her clothing. She hated when people treated her like a doll. But then, did the Defensors really count as people? 

Damn. 

So much for venting steam in a bar fight. If only she’d had her coin pouch! Where had it gone? Tempest bet it was that unconscious gnome. He was probably only pretending to be asleep so he could nick her pouch when she wasn’t paying attention. 

Mama always told her she needed to be more aware of her surroundings. She got too caught up in the mundane. She needed to be alert if she had any hope of surviving in the real world. 

Well. 

This was only the third time Tempest had been robbed in a year. That was good odds, right? 

Right. 

She was never going to tell Squall about this. He’d tease her forever if he knew. He always thought he was so smart and worldly just because his nose was stuck in a book. Ha. He wasn’t brave enough to leave home, the jerk. He didn’t understand that one had to leave home to actually understand the world. 

Blizzara understood that at least. She’d been the first to leave, when Tempest was just a wee babe. She barely knew her oldest sister, but someday, if she traveled far enough, Tempest was sure she’d run into Blizzara somewhere. Khamil wasn’t that big of a continent. She had to be somewhere. 

The Defensors hauled Tempest out of the bar and into the chilly evening, snow falling in quiet flakes and draping everything. A few arcane torches lit the main avenue, flickering in the breeze. More buildings huddled on either side of the wide, open roadway. The sort of businesses which thrived on a major, intercontinental road. Tempest had spent a good bit of time in the general goods store before she ventured into the bar. 

She’d stocked up on travel rations and a health potion or two. If she was lucky, the metal brute carrying her bag hadn’t broken them. 

Tromp, tromp, tromp. 

Tempest sighed as they hauled her and the orc toward a small building squatting just off the main road. A flickering torch highlighted a doorway and the Defensor standing guard to the other side of it. The guard reached over and popped the door open as the captain approached. They all squeezed inside and were frog-marched past a desk with an actual mortal guard this time – a female dwarf, sitting upright and alert but maybe a little bored, too. 

This tiny, tiny town without a name only had the one cell, Tempest guessed, because Dakota was shoved into it, and then Tempest dropped into it next, landing without grace on a pile of damp straw. Her glaive clattered down beside her as she landed on her ass with an oomph. 

The cell door clattered shut, and clicked as it was locked. The captain loomed on the other side, her hands planted on her hips, her face set with schoolmarm sternness. 

“Get comfortable,” she said. “You’re going to be here awhile.” 

Dakota, who’d pulled himself up against a wall, idly wiped blood from his face. “No, I won’t.” 

The captain huffed. “We’ll see.” She clicked her heels together and spun away, twisting her hand into a tight circle. 

The cell darkened to dim light. Tempest could barely make out Dakota sitting nearby, and the round shapes of hay mounds in the cell. It smelled overwhelmingly of mildew and muck, and Tempest started to shiver already. 

“Can’t we get a bit of heat?!” she called out as she pulled the folds of her cloak around her body, tucking it in and making herself as small as possible. She had a blanket in her pack, if they’d just give it to her. 

Nothing. No response. 

Assholes. 

Her attention turned to her cellmate. Dakota didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He had one foot extended in front of him, but the other knee drawn up. He’d tilted his head back against the wall and maybe his eyes were closed. She couldn’t really tell. 

“So,” Tempest chirped. “These accommodations, eh? Personally, I’ve had better, but they aren’t the worst at least. Could do with some heat though.” She craned her neck to try and see down the hall, all but shouting the word ‘heat’. 

No response. 

A low, raspy laugh erupted from her cellmate. “They don’t care about our comfort, little one.” 

“My name is Tempest,” she corrected. “I don’t like being called ‘little one’ as much as I’m sure you hate people calling you ‘tusky’ or ‘that ugly brute’. But I already know your name’s Dakota, so you don’t have to introduce yourself if you don’t want to.” 

Dakota’s eyes opened and he lifted his head, his lips curling into something like a smile. “Fair enough, Tempest.” The hand resting on his knee gave a little twist. “What brings you to the crossroads?” 

“Isn’t that where you’re supposed to go when you’re figuring out what to do next?” Tempest grinned at him, and she assumed he could see her. Couldn’t orcs see in the dark? “I finished one job and was looking for another one. Figured the bar would be a good place to start.” 

“Do you often jump into problems that aren’t yours?” 

She laughed. “If it looks like there’s a bar fight to be had, you bet your ass. Life’s boring without a little risk, right?” 

"Life is safe without risks," Dakota rasped.

Tempest squinted. "I don't think you believe that." She tugged the folds of her cloak more about her body. "So why are you here?"

"It's where I washed up."

"Do you like being here?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"I'm a curious person. It's in my nature." Tempest shrugged, though Dakota probably couldn't see it. "Besides, what else are we going to do?"

Down the hall, another light dimmed, casting the rest of the prison in darkness, with only the faintest of flickering fire to provide the furthest glow. Tempest unraveled out of her cocoon and crept to the edge of the bars, peering up the hall as far as she could see.

The captain was gone, and so was the dwarf guard. Only one Defensor remained, the metal armor glinting dully in the light of a single taper. The Defensor stood at the ready, arcane eyes dimmed, but Tempest had no doubt it was ready to act.

"Escape, for one," Dakota said, but it was barely above a murmur and only Tempest's keen hearing picked it up.

Tempest snorted. "And how are we going to do that?"

"We're going to start by you keeping an eye on the hunk of metal up there. Let me know if it starts to seem too interested in us."

Hay rustled, though barely, and Tempest glanced over her shoulder. Dakota crept forward, barely audible, and pulled off a boot. He dumped it out, a packet of something falling free, and snatched it up.

"What are you doing?" Tempest whispered. It seemed the right thing to do right now, whisper, because they were apparently escaping?

"Your pack should be behind the desk," Dakota murmured as he slipped beside her and started reaching through the bars, hands seeking the simple lock of their cell. "If you are careful and quiet, you can retrieve it without waking the Defensor."

Tempest muffled a laugh. "I am neither of those things. I am small and noisy and clumsy."

Dakota sighed. "Well, at least you're honest." He did something with his fingers, and the tiniest of clicks floated to Tempest's ears. An equally tiny squeak of hinges followed it as the cell door swung up and Dakota pulled back from it. "Very well. Wait here. I shall retrieve your things."

Tempest's eyes widened. "How are you going to do that?"

"With a skill of stealth you don't seem to possess." Dakota grinned at her, teeth and tusks somehow bright despite the dim. "I'd offer to carry you with me, but I suspect you don't like such a thing."

Tempest fully unfurled from her cloak and tucked it around her body to make her as small and easy to carry as possible. "The quirk is in the asking." She stood and planted her hands on her hips. "Let's get out of here!"

"Shh."

"Sorry." She ducked her head and whispered, "Let's get out of here."

Dakota looked at her, eyes a strange glint, and tilted his head. "You trust me so quickly. Are you an idiot or a fool?"

"I've been told I can be both."

A huff of warm air might be laughter. "That is good enough for me." He moved against the bars, peering through them.

The Defensor had not moved. It continued to stare dully into space. Tempest didn't know how good its peripheral vision was, but they might actually be able to sneak past it, if they were careful.

"So what's the plan?" Tempest whispered.

"Defensors are obedient, not smart. I'll get your bag and distract it, you make a run for the door. Simple enough for a fool?"

Tempest muffled a giggle. "I'll try not to screw that up."

Dakota snorted quietly, and slowly pushed the cell door open, inch by precious inch, so that it didn't give them away. He opened it only enough for himself to squeeze through, which left plenty of room for Tempest to hop out. At the last second, however, she remembered her glaive, and darted back in to retrieve it. Stupid of them to let her keep it. 

Dakota gave her a Look she could read even in the dim light.

"Sorry, sorry. Forgot."

Tempest squeezed back out and Dakota slowly, quietly shut the cell, locking it once more. The Defensor still hadn't stirred. Perhaps it was sleeping? Resting? Saving its energy? Tempest knew shit all about how Defensors worked. Magic wasn't much her thing, and neither was science. Those ventures belonged to her twin sisters, Storm and Cloud.

A big finger tapped her gently on the shoulder. "Wait here," Dakota murmured, and there was something weird about the way it floated to her ears. Like it was much louder and closer than it should have been.

Was he a wizard? Fascinating.

Tempest hung back and watched as Dakota seemed to pull the shadows of the dimly lit corridor around him and crept down the hall on silent feet. She was pretty sure he wore boots, but he walked like he was barefoot, without making a sound. Tempest gripped her glaive nervously, her gaze darting between Dakota and the Defensor.

Or well, as much of Dakota as she could see. He blended in with the shadows perfectly, though she supposed it helped the candle flickered so dimly.

The desk, or cabinet actually, where Tempest supposed her pack could be found, sat opposite the wall from the Defensor. She had no clue how Dakota was going to get into the cabinet without the Defensor noticing. It was staring right at the cabinet.

Several breathless moments later, Dakota sidled right up next to the Defensor. He was fiddling with something in his left hand. He waited for several counts and then he moved, far faster than Tempest thought him capable, hand striking whip-quick. 

There was a dull, sharp snap. The Defensor’s eyes flickered and then its head started to droop, its shoulders also. A strange humming sound filled the air before it faded. 

Dakota stepped out of the shadows and gestured to Tempest. That was the signal then? 

She started forward, trying her best to be stealthy. She may or may not have clanged the length of her glaive against the cell bars noisily. 

Dakota sighed. 

Tempest winced. “Sorry.” 

“Just hurry. That reset won’t last long.” 

Tempest picked up the pace, trotting to join Dakota who was already rifling around in the cabinet, stuffing some things into his pockets while he held out her pack with the other hand. 

“What reset?”

“Just a little trick I picked up.” He shook her pack in her direction. “Hurry. Take it.” The other hand shoved a fistful of trail rations into a pouch hanging from his belt. 

“What kind of trick?” Tempest took her pouch and peered into it. Everything was still here! She did a little jiggle in place. She was surprised they hadn’t confiscated anything of value to pay her fees. True, she was still out her pouch of coin, but her spare clothes and dagger and the two restore potions were all present and accounted for. 

That was a victory. 

“None of your business.” Dakota placed a broad against her upper back, between her shoulders, and urged her toward the door. “Come on now. We’re running out of time.” 

“Oh, all right.” 

Tempest let herself be ushered, slinging her pack over one shoulder and balancing her glaive on the other. Dakota nudged her toward the door, but made her wait while he peered through the narrow slits in it, probably checking for other guards. 

He gave a decisive nod and eased the door open, without so much as a creak, pulling her behind him. She let him take the lead, clearly he was better at this stealth business than she was, and they crept into the chilly night, their breaths puffing out in front of them. 

Dakota took her to the nearest alleyway, and they vanished into the smelly shadows, just as a Defensor patrol lumbered by, its soulless eyes blank and focused. Tempest had always thought them creepy. Must have been a mad genius what thought those things up. 

The Defensor passed, the thud-thud-thud of its footsteps fading into the foggy, cold night. It’s a steady rhythm, kind of lulling, and Tempest thought she could even fall asleep to it, if she wasn’t currently hiding from it after escaping from prison. 

“Well,” Tempest chirped. “That was certainly an adventure, and that was what I left home to find, so by my measure, tonight was an absolute success.” She shuffled her belongings, getting her pack more settled on her back. “Though I could’ve done without losing the last of my coin. I’ve been dreaming of a nice bed, but I’m not sure there’s one to be found around here anyway.” 

Tempest sighed and ran a hand through her hair, trying to ruffle the bouncy curls into some semblance of order. There was no fixing them though. 

She looked up and Dakota was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “What?” 

He tilted his head and scratched at his chin. “Anyone ever tell you that you talk a lot?” 

“Oh, all the time.” Tempest dismissed it with a wave. “Papa always said no one could ever get a word in edgewise around me. And it turns out, I carry that into fighting, too. I move fast!” She held up a fist and grinned. “But only in battle. Pretty clumsy otherwise.” 

A chuckle rolled out of Dakota’s mouth. “Aye. You were quite fierce back there.” He tilted his head, gave her another curious look. “I owe you thanks. For coming to my defense, if indeed that’s what it was.” 

“Maybe I just wanted a fight,” Tempest suggested. “Maybe I’m not actually a nice person, and I’m pretty selfish.” 

Dakota’s smile widened, until his tusks were a white gleam in the dim of the alley. “I don’t think that’s true.” He dropped down into a crouch, so Tempest no longer had to crane her neck to look at him. “Here. This is for you.” 

He held out something. In the dim of the alley, it was hard to see, until he tipped it into her hands, and the sound of muffled clinks rose to her ears. Coin? A coin purse? A familiar coin purse, point of fact. She ran her thumbs over the embroidery, done by her brother Storm as a parting gift. 

“This is mine,” she said. Her eyebrows furrowed. “Wait. Someone stole this from me. Cut it clean off my belt.” Her fingers closed around the pouch, and her gaze snapped up. “You’re a thief!” 

“Most in the crossroads are.” He sounded more amused than offended. “Not of your pouch, however. Though technically I stole it from the gnome who stole it from you.” 

Tempest shoved the pouch deep into the bottom of her bag. “I knew it!” she snapped, free hand forming a fist. “He was a little too drunk for it to be real.” Her eyes narrowed. “That little asshole better hope I don’t find him.” 

Dakota chuckled quietly, his laugh like wagon wheel over river pebbles. “Worry not. He’s lost all his earnings for the day.” He winked and patted a pouch at his side, which jingled even more noisily than Tempest’s. 

Her eyes widened. “Wow. You’re pretty good at this.” She paused and squinted at him as she suddenly remembered a very important fact. “Wait. If you had my coin and all that coin, why didn’t you just pay the fees so neither of us got arrested?” 

“Why waste the coin?” 

Well, she had to admit. He had a point. If she could break her way out of any prison they stuck her in, she’d sneak out rather than pay the fines, too. 

“Fair enough.” Tempest dusted off her hands and gave a pointed look around the dim alley, which now that she was paying attention, smelled more than a little like vomit and moldy cheese. She wrinkled her nose. “Now what?” 

Dakota rose to his full height. He edged to the end of the alley and peered out. “Now we get the hell out of the crossroads before that Defensor thinks to check the cell and raise the alarm.” 

“Right that makes sense.” Tempest nodded slowly and adjusted her cloak, her bag, her glaive – she paused. “We?” 

Dakota’s head turned back toward her. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to imply you were required to go where I did.” 

“No, I mean…” Tempest grinned. “Traveling alone is boring, and I was here to find someone to wander with anyway. Granted, I wanted a paying job, but I’m not picky either.” 

Dakota blinked. He looked genuinely confused. “You do not want to travel with me. You won’t like where I’m going.” 

Tempest planted a hand on her hip and glared up at him. “Where are you going?” 

“North. To Watercrest.” 

Tempest didn’t know much, even if she had spent the last three years traipsing all across the continent. But she knew Watercrest, if only by reputation alone. It was a den of miscreants, thieves, murderers. Haven, really, for the lawless and those running from the law. No one in their right mind ventured there unless they belonged. 

If Dakota was trying to scare her off, he’d have to try harder. 

“I’ve never been there,” she said brightly. “But it sounds like the kind of place I’d find a good scrap, which means it’s perfect. Let’s go!” 

Dakota blinked again. “I’m an orc.” 

“And I’m a halfling,” Tempest chirped. “I’m from Stonepeak, right off the coast of the Saffron Sea. I have eight brothers and sisters, I’m a barbarian, and I love a good fight, but I’m terrible with money, and I’m terribly clumsy.” She stuck out her free hand and aimed it up at him. 

“You are very, very odd,” Dakota said, but he offered a hand back down and it completely dwarfed hers when they shook. “But I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He let her go and peered out of the alley once more. “The time to go is now, so if you’re intent on following me, stay close.” 

Tempest dipped into an elaborate bow. “Lead the way, my new friend.” 

That earned her a smile, a genuine one for what she could tell. 

This was going to be so much fun.

***

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still getting a feel for my characters before I start on the main story, so I'd love any feedback on my works. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!


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